


The Cabin at The End of the World ~ Alternative Ending

by 5thGreatCalamity



Category: The Cabin at the End of the World
Genre: Alternate Ending, Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Child Death, End of the World, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Religious Fanaticism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, POV Alternating, Paul Tremblay, Self-Sacrifice, Spoilers, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23819593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5thGreatCalamity/pseuds/5thGreatCalamity
Summary: ⚠️ IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE BOOK, MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD⚠️At the end of the book, Andrew and Eric are holding each other in the woods, free of the threat of their perpetrators but burdened with their daughter's corpse.Leonard had asked them a willing sacrifice to prevent the end of the world, but they didn't believe him, nor they do now.Or do they?





	1. Andrew

**Author's Note:**

> The open ending of the book didn't give me any peace, so I wrote my idea of what happened after those last few lines:
> 
> _"We lean into each other and our heads..."_

_We lean into each other and our heads are side by side, cheek to cheek. Our arms hang at our sides like lowered flags, but our fingers find each other's fingers, and we hold on. The sky is a depthless black, impossible not to attribute malignancy and malice to it as strobing flashes of lightning split it open. Wind and thunder rattle through the forest, sounding like the earth dying screaming. The storm swirls directly over us. But we've been through countless other storms. Maybe this one is different. Maybe it isn't._

**~**

I have no idea how long we stay still, leaning on each other, under the storm. Time is not a flow anymore. Not since Wen rushed inside the cabin to warn us about the four strangers. Time has become something entirely different, pointy and sharp, ready to cut in depth if only we allow ourselves to linger on it too long. I don't remember picking up the gun, but the feeling in the back pocket is as comforting as it is nauseous – an evil reminder of its weight in my hand, the light pressure on the trigger, enough to take a life. Not just any life, either. I wonder if I will ever forget it, or if I am doomed to bring that vivid memory to my tomb. I wonder if I will carry it with me wherever I'll go after leaving this earth, like an undesired, vicious shadow. So much for being an agnostic. Maybe that is what the apocalypse is about - each and anyone's personal doomsday.  
We have survived this, and at the same time, we are still stuck in the cabin, frozen in the same positions: Eric on the couch with Wen's body across his lap, Sabrina with her back against the front wall and himself in the centre of the common area, his feet soaked in blood. Sabrina has got this empty look on her face and doesn't speak anymore. She doesn't move nor breath. Her brain has already sprayed sideways out of her skull, in anticipation of what's to come after they'll leave the cabin. If they ever actually will. Time is not a flow, not anymore.

Before leaving the side of the road, Eric has claimed to carry Wen. There is no point in objecting: if he carries Wen, he won't be able to try and use the gun on himself. Andrew knows he should've thrown it away into the woods, but it's as if that thought wasn't his own. As if someone else's thought just intruded within his own, trying to merge and get mixed up with the others. He would not allow that.  
Why keeping the gun? He doesn't believe some other crazy Catholic psycho friend of Leonard are hiding in the woods. He doesn't believe they'll see any of those bears Eric was so worried about either. They didn't approach Redmond's body on the deck, not even after two days of rotting on plain air. They wouldn't find the two of them out on the road. His mind automatically rejects any other option, not letting them take over, not giving up.   
_I am not giving up._  
  
"Are you okay? What are you thinking?", he asks Eric. He hates being left with the only sound of their foot on the cement to break the silence. He is hoping some car will come either way, but it seems (and feels) like they're the only ones left walking the earth.  
"It's stopped raining. Maybe that's a good sign." It takes him a while to answer, and it sounds so far away Andrew almost regrets asking in the first place. But he's right: the dark-purple sky is dense with shapes and it feels heavy on their heads, but there's no rain to baptise their journey anymore.  
Redmond's truck is found where Sabrina said it would be. It doesn't make him feel any better. He almost expects the keys to be unfitting, but they slide in without a second try needed; he fears then the truck won't make any sound at all, dead and gone like the corpse of his own daughter, the ghost of his attacker wrenching the motor to keep hunting him. The engine starts at the first try with a single, high pitched cry.  
Andrew wants to tell Eric to take his place at the driver's seat because he doesn't trust his knee but his husband has already occupied the rear seats, holding Wen in the same position as he'd just been teleported from the cabin couch. He doesn't bother with the seat belts; after keeping a gun under his chin, Eric doesn't need to be reminded of the danger. He looks like the gun is still pointing at his throat. That fills Andrew with a bitter, bile-ish stomach sickness and almost decides to give in right outside the truck door but recoils. Takes a deep breath, places the gun inside the passenger glove compartment and shuts it with unnecessary strength. He's still shaking; Eric, from the middle rear-view mirror, has not even flinched. He doesn't seem to be there: he is at the same time sitting on the cabin's couch and standing in the woods, the gun barrel right under his chin.  
"Ok, we're leaving now. It's over. See, Eric? We're leaving. They can't hurt us anymore. It's all over."  
He's trying to reach him but Eric is unavailable. He's looking ahead but doesn't see anything, doesn't react at all. Andrew doesn't wait for an answer, just take them back on the main road. He drives slowly, shifting the gear carefully as if expecting it to break any time. He struggles to stay focused on the road, every sneaking look at the rear mirror crosses Eric's lost expression. His legs feel weak and swollen, either because of the pulsing pain in his knee or the rounds of sickness that return to burn his throat before being able to fight it back every time. The road stretches far ahead, cornered by trees on both sides, as long as he can see. He vaguely remembers it on their way to the cabin, days before; Eric was driving and he was fully lost in the essay. Wen had slept throughout most of their journey.  
There was a garage no more than twenty minutes' drive before their cabin; it appeared without signals in a small area surrounded by the same trees that constantly shadowed the road for miles and miles before and after it. He remembers seeing it too late to be able to warn Eric; he had said they wouldn't need it for a while, maybe just for the way back.  
If he gets there, there will be a phone. Supplies. Someone who could help, maybe.  
They were beyond help, now. He knew that as well.  
  
Andrews occasionally checks on Eric during the drive but gets no answer. He tries to hide it but Eric's obvious state of shock is starting to frighten him. He longs for his voice, his reassuring tone. He keeps himself from looking at the rear mirror again. It's not raining and the purple sky is getting lighter, switching from every shade of violet, indigo and magenta known and unknown. They'll just have to wait for the clouds to be wiped away and the storm gone. Once the usual light blue will re own its throne above their head, it'll look like a new day and they'll be back to their lives. They just need to keep going, just for a little while. Andrew keeps repeating that to himself, silently praying for the sky to open.  
He sees the small garage area opening ahead widely in time and slows down the truck until it's parked in front of the modest building on the side. From the outside it looks like a studio flat sized concrete shoe box; grey and dead. Andrew starts saying something, immediately cut off by the astounding sound of a thunder, so sudden and powerful to startle them both. Even with their hands covering the ears, the deep reverberation shakes the men from their very bottom. If that had happened only a couple minutes earlier – Andrew thinks - they'd probably be dead, smashed against a tree or trapped in the drainage ditch alongside the road. He decides to take it as a good sign. The sky, alive and threatening, openly disagrees: lightnings and thunderbolts draw pointy shapes all over, disappearing behind menacing thick clouds just to appear after instants on another side. The same clouds get switched on and off at their passage, leaving a purple-ish, static atmosphere they both feel on their skin. His mouth is dry and bitter, but still finds words, for the sake of Eric and himself.  
  
"I'll go inside before it starts raining again. You'll be fine inside the car; I'll leave the door open. If you see or feel anything, shout and I'll come out running. Just wait here, ok?"  
He's turned on his side to watch Eric straight in his face, hoping the thunderstorm has awaken him somehow. Pulling himself between the front seats gap, he gently takes Eric's face within his hands and kisses him on the lips. Eric doesn't respond but has closed his eyes and is crying. They both are.  
"You'll be okay. We will be, I'm going to call someone. Just wait here"  
Regained freedom from the seat belt, Andrew lunches himself outside. He opens the left rear door as promised, holding the place as if regretting the idea of leaving them alone in the car even if the shop door is less than 2 meters away.  
"It doesn't work. It's broken"  
Andrew barely hears him between the thunders. Their roaring so deep and shaken, as if the earth itself was crying out in pain. Eric's voice is a whisper, just as agonizing.  
"What is it? What's broken, Eric?" But the other only repeats the same words; he's still crying and he's cradling Wen's body as if trying to keep her asleep.  
"We'll fix it, we'll be alright. I'll be back in a flash, shout and I'll runback. We'll be ok", Andrew promises.  
This is the moment: the ground seems to be shifting under his feet after every thunder – he needs to be quick. A crooked sign on the door says "Closed for mourning", another painful mockery. Andrew reaches for a heavy stone and smashes the main window without a second thought. Stepping over training shoes and camping tools, gets inside the small shop.


	2. Wen

Daddy Eric has jumped a little when Daddy Andrew has shattered the window. He couldn't have possibly heard its sound between the growling ground and the even louder shouting of the sky, but he was watching. He keeps cradling me and crying and watching Daddy Andrew disappear inside the building.  
I want to tell him to stop crying. I want to tell him that it's okay if he needs to lay me down. The thunders are not going to wake me up; I am not scared. I am with him.  
He doesn't listen to me, but sits straight again with his back to the shop and looks at the sky. I believe he sees something scary, because he can't stop shivering and gets goose bumps. Maybe he should have my flowery flannel blanket, the one they brought from home because it might have been cold. I want to tell him that I am not cold and that he can have my blanket so he doesn't have to shiver anymore.  
I see Daddy Eric whispering to himself between the sobs. I want to hug him, but he only sobs harder. He breathes hard and loud, his chest rising as if gasping for air. He coughs and breathes and cries and cradles me. A frightening, violent outburst freezes Daddy Eric; he looks at the left, behind the first rows of tall trees where a taller cone of black, dense smoke rises high, spreading itself across the electric storm. The flames are trying to reach the invisible ceiling, adding more reds and oranges to the sky colour palette.

Daddy Eric hugs me tight, whispers love words in my ear and kisses my forehead hidden by the flannel. He leaves me lying on the rear seats, my covered head as close as it can be to the open door without being outside. He slips out, corners the truck until is on its right, looking straight to the disastrous painting ahead: the air is getting thicker and heavier and breathing is hard, it makes him cough even if the low wind is pushing flames and devastation to the back, where the forest expands to the lake and further.  
Daddy Andrew would be happy to know that the cabin is soon destined to be swollen up by the fire, alongside with the other cabins on the perimeter. Some of them have already sunken inside the lake, when the ground has given in and opened, like a widening crack on a wall.  
I want to say to Daddy Eric that he doesn't have to worry about the bears, because other flames have started blooming all over the forest, the road, the town behind and the one after that. The bears are scared and all the other animals are too. They run over to the cities, trying to escape the woods, but the new crevices make it hard for them to retreat. It is not easier for the other people, the other daddys and mums and kids are escaping the towns, leaving behind collapsed homes and ruined building, either by gas explosions or roofs shredded by flying rocks like thin paper. They flee to the seaside, unaware of the boiling raising waves that are quickly arising, nor of the toxic, poisonous air carried by the wind from the deepest cuts of the bleeding earth, finally uncovered after billions of years of sediments in the dark.  
I want to, but I don't say any of that, because daddy Eric looks scared already. Scared, but himself. I see him opening the front right-side door of the truck, his movements quick and precise.  
He then stops by my side; he rests his free hand on my head and smiles the saddest smile I'll ever see.


	3. Andrew

The phone is ringing but the emergencies lines are overrun and the recorded voice invites him to leave a message, he'll be called back as soon as an operator is available. He tries again with the same result, except that this time the line gets cut and the phone dies on him with a low buzzing. He looks around: his sight, adapted to the darkness, wonders between the packed shelves for anything that could be useful.  
There are only three aisles, Andrew goes through them as quickly as he can without getting his knee over the limit, but close enough. He abruptly stops by the first aid supplies, snatching a box of wide cohesive bandages and a few sealed sterile wound wipes. He doesn't linger, rushing over the main corridor to get outside. He's left them alone for too long now and the thought of missing Eric's shouting under the raging thunderstorm scares him.  
With his hands full, doesn't bother try opening the first door but pass through the broken window, one leg at a time, careful to avoid the biggest shards of sharp glass pointing up and sideways. And there he stops.

Everything falls off his hands as if they had just turned to sand: the first sudden step he pushes forward to Eric sends him to the ground, helped by this uneven, sickening pressure on his chest that kicked all the air out of his lungs. He tries taking strong, harsh breathes and it's hard but he makes it work. Lifting his eyes to his husband, regains balance and tries to stand up while pushing forward to the door he had left open, calling his name over and over.  
Eric's back is against the door, slightly pending over the inside of the car; even though he's sitting on the floor, the left hand still holds Wen's covered face. He's been careful to aim backwards, to avoid spoiling the flannel sheet above their daughter – only the sprayed blood on the door gives out the unmistakable result of his actions. His eyes are closed, his face scarred and wet with tears and blood.  
Andrew keeps repeating his name as if it's the only last word he knows. Each _Eric_ requires a more dragged breath and the effort makes his larynx burn, until his voice sounds like someone else's, hoarse and rasping. He's fighting for breaths and he's fighting this feeling of pressure he can't describe or rationalize; only a few steps from reaching his family, his whole body seems to be sliding under a slow but relentless steamroller, not fast enough to escape it and yet enough to let the pain gradually intensifying.  
He doesn't look to the trees all around, bending under the same invisible merciless press; he doesn't hear their breaking, nor the crying of wild animals pushed closer by the fire that spread to every direction. He doesn't notice the flames or the smoke, nor the unnatural colours of the closer atmosphere. He doesn't look up to marvel at the alien shapes the clouds have formed, at how day and night seem to coexist alongside with pulsing lights and flaming stars. He doesn't focus on the trembling concrete under his crawling hands.  
Andrew holds up both hands above Eric's body and Wen's, demanding himself the very last effort to hug his family and hold them before the sky come crushing down on all of them.


End file.
